This post has been decidedly uncomfortable for me to write & has taken several weeks, but if you have ever wondered what happened to the "Spiritual Warfare" cleanup campaign…
|Sometimes we get stuck.|
Last Autumn I was participating in a series of pathworking meditations which had a profound impact on my ability to effectively use the dream incubation technique in my "Hatred Remediation" project. At the time, however, I did not realize this. When I look back on my posts in October & November of last year, I can see that I was on fire. Or something.
When I migrated South, I found my dreamwork abilities waning, waning, waning... I thought at that time that this had something to do with the season -- it was winter after all & the mycelia, like many other life forms are at rest, in stasis, sleeping. So I gave myself a little bit of slack & figured I would pick it up again when the weather was more accommodating...
When I found the fungi popping up early Spring, high-desert-style, I thought this heralded a change on the horizon… no.
When I returned to Alaska & found fungi the very first time we hit he trails I thought, "Let the dreamwork begin!" … no.
|Utterly broken Coprinus(?)|
I went ahead & completed two more of my remediation projects using some original sympathetic techniques. I even received assistance from a few other people. But somewhere in the back of my mind I was mulling over & lamenting the loss of what I shall call my "subscription" to that "channel" that felt lost to me. I liken it to having rabbit ears on a television. You swivel that contraption round & round, antennae akimbo until you finally capture that special signal. Ah! Then you will do everything in your power to keep that position locked into place; duct tape, stacks of books, strategically placed houseplants. But inevitably, the cat decides a new perch is in order & poof! Bye bye special signal, auf wiedersehen sacred programming, ciao my precious channel.
I can't really blame it on the cats this time. The children, maybe.
I still have yet to write about those two workings -- now nearly three months completed -- despite the fact that they really were quite clever. This is probably because I have been feeling deflated. Or not on fire anymore. Just kind of soggy. (Which one might think would be good for a mycophile…)
I have not bothered to pursue any further mushroomy-workings.
Instead, I performed a 180 & appealed (much to my ego's chagrin) to the Wiccan High Priest who had been sharing his late High Priestess's meditations with the community. The short story is that I have now attended a group class, some private meetings & a circle thus far. I also have a daily 'anointing ritual' which is specifically intended to liberate my intuition. It is all somewhat humbling & awkward & the decision has surprised more than a few people who know me. It is also remarkably comfortable. Like putting on an old pair of jeans. I know that system -- I have lived it. Even if I cannot abide by the label any longer, Wicca is as familiar as my native tongue. It only makes sense to return to it, even feral & changed as I am, to recalibrate my antenna, to remember how to listen.
|Miniature poppy in the greenhouse.|
|Poppies on the porch.|
|Getting un-stuck: Gathering poppy pods throughout Alaska.|